Flitting
by Emantsal
Summary: Marielle Cousland knows that sometimnes love doesn't conquer all... that sometimes sacrafices have to be made, promises have to be kept.  Cousland and Zevran.  Slightly AU.  Please R&R.  Reviews are like candy to me!  I can never get enough...
1. Chapter 1

Bioware owns all. Dragon Age is awesome. Thanks Bioware for allowing me to play in your world…

The Antivan Crow watched as Marielle, the Grey Warden, flitted around the campsite dispersing favors to her companions. Flitted…yes, that was an appropriate word, he mused watching the young woman's slender form clad in heavy plate armor, wind its way through the camp from person to person, her eyes aglow as she delivered the perfect token of her appreciation for all their efforts. A mirror for Morrigan, flowers for Leliana, a small statue for Alistair… and all with no thoughts of anything in return except maybe friendship. He'd never met anyone who did anything for someone else without wanting something in return, but of course his chosen profession perhaps precluded meeting such a person… until now.

Around the campfire her eagerness to learn about each person, a genuine willingness to listen, almost compelled her traveling companions to open up, to tell her things… about themselves, their lives, their hopes and dreams. He'd even succumbed to her, telling her things about his, things probably better left unsaid. She'd wanted to know more about his home, more about Antiva and the Crows… Without really knowing why he'd told her about his childhood, about being an orphan and growing up in a whorehouse. He'd told her about being sold to the Crows when he was seven. Somewhere in the conversation he'd mentioned Antivan Leather boots, how he'd been tempted to buy a pair before his last mission, the mission where he'd tried to assassinate her. She hadn't pointed that out, of course. That was not her way. She was much too… nice… it seemed, never trying to offend anyone, but always getting her way, it seemed. It seemed that she was also too trusting by far since she'd accepted his pledge to her without reservation. He just hoped that unflinching trust wouldn't get her killed…

Tonight, after the evening meal, she'd come flitting over to him, how did someone flit in plate armor anyway? Her eyes were twinkling, a mischievous smile on her plump lips…ah, those lips…too tempting by far… At any rate, she'd settled down on the log beside him. He could feel the cold of the steel through his leathers, she sat so close. He continued cleaning and sharpening his blade, deciding to be perverse and ignore her. She was much too enticing, and he didn't want to admit for even a second that he was beginning to…care for her. He might be intrigued, but then what man, or woman for that matter, would not be? She was beautiful, sexy, strong, dangerous…a heady combination to be sure. But, he would not think of anyone 'that way' ever again. He lived his life according to the Crow ways. No attachments, nothing personal, no feelings. Just the present and whatever pleasures you could take… But with her? No, he would not let himself go there. He would never put himself in that place again, he swore.

When he'd continued ignoring her, she pulled something wrapped in cloth from behind her back and dropped it into his lap, on top of his blade and hands. She'd already given him several small gold and silver bars…knew he liked the finer things in life, that wealth was something he aspired to. But this? Too large and lumpy to be more gold or silver. He wondered just what she'd found that could be 'perfect' for him.

Finally his curiosity got the better of him and he pulled the cloth back to look inside. Boots? She'd given him boots? He was about to give her the "What the hell?" look when the smell reached his nose.

Antivan leather. Antivan leather boots. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Something inside him

quickened, and he realized his heart was pounding in his chest, the thumping a drumbeat in his ears. Somehow, she'd found these boots and thought of him. Thought of him... A faint smile played on his lips… She thought of him…

"Well, go on. Try them on!" she'd urged, laughing at the bemused expression on his face. Bending down to grab his foot, she tried to wrest the boot currently on it, off, ultimately landing on her fanny in front of him because too much bending and plate armor weren't a good combination. Looking up at him, grinning like an idiot, he didn't think she'd ever looked more beautiful. Maker, he couldn't do this again, would not let anyone that close again, ever… He resorted to the only defense he knew, glib remarks and cocky comments, and of course innuendo. In the end he'd managed a huge smile and thanked her and then said something about just needing an Antivan whore, some fish chowder, and a corrupt politician to feel like he was home. She'd kept smiling and told him he was welcome, but all the time the glow in her eyes dimmed, the twinkle faded and her steps were heavier when she made her way to her tent.

It was a few minutes later that she stuck her head out the tent flap and looked around, a pensive expression on her face. Across the camp, Morrigan and Leliana were cleaning up from the evening meal. Wynne was resting in her tent, the day's activities having been taxing on the older woman. Alistair and Sten had ventured into the surrounding woods and were gathering fire wood. Shale, as usual, was standing near the supply wagons talking to Bodahn and Sandal. Seeing no one else close by, she gave him a pained smile and pulled back inside her tent. A little while later he was passing her tent on the way back from his own when he heard muffled sobs and a low, pained moan. Not giving himself time to question his actions, he went over, bent down and poked his head inside the tent. "Mari?" he asked, his eyes adjusting to the dark interior. Maker, where had all that blood come from?


	2. Chapter 2

Marielle Cousland gasped again at the sound of his voice, her head whipping around to look over her bare shoulder at the intruder. Damn, she didn't want anyone to see her. She felt so stupid for being so weak. She didn't want anyone to know just how dumb she really was, didn't want to have to bother Wynne to patch her up, again.

She'd felt a small sting when the dagger sliced expertly between the plates of armor she wore. The Genlok rouge had been a master, she'd give him that. High on her right side up under her arm, it had stung for a while, but with the press of Darkspawn all around them, she'd shoved the incident into the back of her mind, pressing her body onward, ignoring the pain by just pretending it wasn't there. Wynne, their healer, had been as exhausted as the rest of them. Massive heal spells as well as offensive fire and defensive wards had tired the older woman out. Marielle hadn't wanted to bother her with, what she thought was, a small nick.

The armor and under padding were gone. Sitting crosslegged on the ground, she wore only a pair of thin cotton trousers and the bindings wrapped around her breasts. She'd never been able to just wear her small clothes and the padding when she was in armor. For some unknown reason, the Maker had decided to be overly generous with certain…parts of her body, and binding them tightly was the only way she could effectively fight without jiggling…bouncing…whatever. She didn't want to even think about all the times she'd had open sores before her mother had brought her the cloth strips.

In the dim light of the fire filtering through the fabric of the tent she'd been forced to admit it was a little more than a nick. The wraps that bound her breasts under the armor had evidently absorbed most of the blood. They had also held the wound together. When she began unwinding the cloth strips, the wound gaped open and the pain had hit her like a hammer. She'd had to stifle the urge to scream. Warm liquid flowed down her side, absorbing into the material of her pants as another moan escaped her lips. Her backpack was at the far end of the tent. She had healing potions in it, but just trying to move caused the wound to gape, to bleed, to hurt like hell. It was just too much. The perfect end to a perfect week….

First, she'd celebrated her birthday, alone. She hadn't told anyone, hadn't wanted to bother anyone. She loved doing things for others. She hated anyone making a fuss over her. It's just that her mom had always made a big fuss. She'd hated it really, but she'd give anything for her mother to be alive now to fuss over her. Then they'd finally found the village of Haven and ultimately the Urn of Andraste. That had been wonderful. The Gauntlet, however, had not. She'd been confronted with the past, with her decision to leave her mother and father to a death sentence as Arl Rendon Howe's forces attached their castle. No matter that her parents, as well as Duncan, had tried to get her to see that staying was not an option, that there was nothing she could do to change what was going to happen. Still, she felt she had failed them, that she should have stay and fought, should have died there with them. Maker, how she missed them. She was so alone, so alone…

And then she'd found a pair of new Antivan Leather boots in a chest in Haven and had known they'd be the perfect gift for Zevran. So far, all she'd been able to find to gift to him had been some silver and gold bars. Sure, he liked them. He liked treasure, money. But those had seemed like such impersonal things.

She'd grown closer to him over the last several weeks, hoped he trusted her to keep the Crows from finding him. He was funny, charming, and an outrageous flirt, but also a friend, and she always protected her friends. Of course the other members of their little group thought she was stark raving crazy. Trust the assassin? How could you expect anyone to trust you if you didn't trust them, she'd tried to explain to Alistair one night as they talked about the Grey Wardens and their quest. He'd pledged himself to her and her quest until such time as she didn't need him anymore and released him. Of course that was right after she'd spared his life for trying to assassinate her…. Was she a little crazy? She had to be… She kinda wanted Zev to be more than a friend. Crazy, stupid, insane, idiot! He was a man of the world, had probably slept with most of Ferelden, whereas she was a way too naïve girl running around the country slaying demon beast, constantly soaked in blood and gore.

Anyway, she'd thought he'd like the boots because they might remind him of his home. He'd told her about Antiva one night, sitting around the camp fire, sipping from a bottle of wine he'd managed to find somewhere. The wistfulness in his voice had been at odds with the man who professed to love nothing and no one more than the thrill of a good murder, of pulling off an impossible job, except maybe the idea of bedding every woman, or man, he met, regardless of age or marital status. The assassin might talk a good game, but she knew homesickness when she heard it. Highever Castle seemed like a million miles away. It might as well have been on the moon. She didn't have a home any more…

Add to all that the stupid dagger wound in her side that was causing her to feel weaker and weaker as her blood decided to leave her body in large amounts and Zevran's flippant acceptance of the boots and she thought she might must slip over the edge. Of course, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing…no more blight, no more aching loneliness, no more strange thoughts of a certain golden elf…

"Marielle!" he said her name again, noticing the glazed look in her eyes, the hand holding her side, the blood seeping between her fingers. A muttered curse escaped his lips as he lifted the tent flap and crawled inside. The bloody rags beside her told him all he needed to know. He knew now the rogue had scored a hit after all. She hadn't said anything, hadn't even stopped swinging that bloody blade of hers. Crawling up behind her, he grabbed a handful of rags and told her to move her hand before placing the rags over the wound and pressing, hard.

"Hold this while I get Wynne," he said, taking her blood soaked hand to place it over the rags, already scooting backward to leave the tent.

"NO!" she reached out and with what strength she had left and grabbed his wrist. "She's so tired from today, don't bother her. Can you just…" she paused to catch her breath as another wave of pain rolled through her side causing her head to spin, "just get my pack? I have some potions in it…"

"You need more than a potion, I think," he muttered, moving carefully to crawl around her and retrieve the backpack. "I think the rib was nicked." Inside he grabbed two healing potions and turned around and…

It hit him like a brick wall and he had to force himself to remain steady, to calmly uncork the vials and hand them to her. Just breathe, in, out, in, out… A strange shock passed between them as their fingers met over the vials.

"You know, my dear, the only way to, ah, stop the loss of blood is constant, firm, pressure, yes? Perhaps I could be of some assistance, as it were," he murmured, still not looking, returning to rummage around in her bag for more bandages, or, something.

"If you could just help me get a bandage on, I think I can manage." Strength was returning to her limbs, her head was clearing as the healing potions did their work. But as her head cleared she realized she was sitting in her tent with the worldly golden elf, wearing nothing but a pair of thin britches and he wasn't even interested in looking at her. Oh, this was just the icing on the cake…

He heard her indrawn hiss of breath as she tried unsuccessfully to lift her arm and remove the blood soaked rags he'd pressed there earlier. Finding the bandages he sought he kept his eyes averted as he moved to crouch next to her on his knees.

"You will have to remove your hand my dear if I am to properly attend to your wound." He finally looked up at her with a, he hoped, bemused smile on his face. They're just breasts. Nothing you haven't seen before.

Reluctantly she lowered her arm, removing her hand from the bloody bandages. Turning her head aside she wouldn't look at him, didn't want to see whatever expression he chose to show her. She would not give in to the heady feeling of him being so close. Would not go up in flames at his touch. Would not show how much his nearness affected her.

Slowly he reached up to remove the soaked rags. Her skin was soft as satin, translucent in the pale light coming through the fabric of the tent. Where the blood had run down her ribs, he reached across her to the small bowl of water she'd brought in to bathe with, and taking the damp rag there he gently sponged away the dried blood, deliberately avoiding any contact with the delicious globes of flesh so tantalizingly within reach. He heard her breathing quicken, watched as her nipples tightened. Suddenly the air in the tent was too hot. Working quickly, he managed to get a fresh bandage on and then wondered just how in the hell he was supposed to keep it in place.

"Can you," Mari hesitated to continue, her face darkening, still not looking at him. "Can you help me with clean bindings?"

"Ah, my delicious Grey Warden, such magnificence should not be covered up. Such bounty and perfection should be worshiped," he quipped. Anything to get her to kick him out the door, quickly, before he made a complete fool of himself.

" You don't have to pretend, Zev. I know they're not…" she faltered. Her one foray into the whole man woman thing had resulted in a certain castle knight getting one look at her breasts and stumbling all over himself to get away. It had been her sixteenth birthday and her mother had bought her a new dress, all the way from Orlais. She'd never been overly conscious of her breasts before, but the dress had been cut a little low, however it was all the fashion in court. Her mother had been adamant that it was not proper for her to show up at her party in metal armor. The entire castle was there as well as Ser Gilliam, one of the young knights serving her father. They had spared with each other on the training field many times and she'd thought they had become friends. At the party she'd approached him to talk about some matter of shield training. She'd never been one of those girls to flirt and talk of trivial matters. When first seeing her, his eyes had gotten big and he'd stared. Then he'd looked anywhere but at her. He'd been so uncomfortable he'd practically looked sick before muttering something about not being sure they should train together anymore. After that she'd made sure they were wrapped, tightly, all the time. "I know they're too…big."

"You know this, how?" he queried, amusement slipping into his voice, reaching for a clean strip of cloth, his chest brushing her arm as he leaned in to quickly wrap it around her chest. He had to concentrate on the task at hand. Oh where he wished he could put his hands… For such a slender woman she was so generously blessed, they would more than fill his palm, such soft skin beckoning his touch.

"I just…know," was all she said, finally turning her head to glance up at him through the tangle of hair covering her face.

"Then you know nothing, my sweet. Your beauty is meant to drive men wild with desire, to cause them to forget anything but you…" Wrapping more clean strips around her, he continued to lean in close, breathing in the scent of her hair, the scent of the woman so close…

"Yea, I can see I'm driving you sooo wild," she deadpanned. "I can finish. Thanks." Dismissing him, she took the last two strips from him and finished winding them about herself.

"Do not doubt it, Mari, my sweet. I simply wish to be a gentleman and not force my attentions on one so recently… injured. To do so would certainly deny you the ultimate pleasure I could give you." He scooted back and crawled to the tent opening.

"Zev?" she said quietly, refusing to look at him. "Thanks…and I'm sorry you didn't really like the boots."

He backed out of the tent quickly, as if a demon was inside, wondering just what that pain in his chest was. In his tent he retrieved the boots from where he'd placed them on his bedroll. He inhaled deeply, but it wasn't Antiva he thought of. No, he thought of a slight wisp of a girl who had listened to him ramble one night about missing his home, and then she'd remembered, and thought of him…


	3. Chapter 3

Later on that night he couldn't sleep. He'd heard her moving around in her tent, knew she was probably in pain, unable to get comfortable. He only meant to check on her, he told himself. Nothing more… At her tent he paused, wondering if he should perhaps get Wynne, surely that would be the wisest thing to do. But no, she'd asked him not to disturb the other woman. Pushing the tent flap aside he squatted down and peered inside.

"Mari?" he whispered, his eyes adjusting to the darker interior of the tent. In the back of the tent she sat with her back against her weapon crate.

"Zev? I'm sorry, did I wake you? I was trying to be quite."

"I was awake and heard you moving around. I just thought to check on you…to be sure you had not… begun to bleed to death, again…"

"Funny. I just can't seem to get comfortable. I guess I'm going to have to sleep sitting up."

"May I come in?" he asked.

"I suppose…I don't want to bother you, though."

Crawling inside he moved to sit beside her, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. Turning his head he gazed at her, noticing a blush creeping into her cheeks, but also pain in her eyes.

"I remember my first rib wound. Hurt like a demon, and I could not sleep. After a few nights of no sleep, someone told me to push my bed against the wall, to sleep with my back against it and my injured side up."

"Um, I'll try that the next time I actually sleep in a real bed. Until then I guess this crate will have to do."

"Come, my Warden," he whispered. Grabbing her hand he pulled her over to the pallet where he stretched out and guided her down beside him. "Just think of me as your wall, such as it is."

"I don't know, Zev," she hesitated. She never even kissed a man, much less lain with one.

"Come Mari, you are safe with me," he convinced himself of the lie that left his lips. "As I said earlier, your injuries preclude me from endeavoring to seduce you, my sweet. You are indeed safe, for the moment. At least until your…injury…heals," he purred, pulling her down beside him, adjusting her so that she rested her head on his arm, her back pulled tight against his chest as he wrapped his free arm around her waist. When she didn't relax, he began rubbing her arm through the blanket he'd managed to drag over them.

"Sleep, Mari. I am dressed and you are, too, no? If I were thinking of seduction, neither of us would be wearing… anything." He continued gently rubbing her arm, squeezing her shoulder gently, willing her to fall asleep before he did something stupid.

"Zev?" she murmured, finally relaxing as the events of the day helped pull her down into slumber. "I'm glad you decided to stay with me…with us…" and then she drifted off, missing the way his body tensed against hers.

Years of abuse and training with the Crows had taught the Antivan Elf what real pain was, and how to ignore it, how to beat it. As a small child he'd quickly learned to show no fear, to show no emotion, no matter how much they abused his body, his mind, his soul. But this small woman, this small human noble woman was more dangerous to his piece of mind than any of the Crow's training techniques had ever been. After Rinna, he vowed to never again let anyone close enough to cause him pain. Never again…he repeated the mantra over and over in his head. The woman in his arms was temporary at best, he knew this. She was a human. She was a noblewoman, and from what he knew of Ferelden society, her family's rank had been second only to the King. She was a Grey Warden. She was on a quest to stop a Darkspawn invasion and kill an Archdemon. She was just another woman, and he could have any woman he wanted. He kept making up reasons that he shouldn't be interested in her, shouldn't care what happened to her. Somewhere in the night he drifted off into a fitful sleep, ever aware, though, that Mari's warm body rested trustingly against his.

Before dawn he awoke and stretched carefully, trying to work the kinks out of his limbs without disturbing a still sleeping Mari. He knew he should return to his own tent before their traveling companions began so stir. But just for one moment of insanity though, he leaned up close and nuzzled her neck, breathing in the warm scent of her, so aware of the softness of her skin there. Unable to stop, he planted a small kiss behind her ear, his lips feather light…

Marielle awoke slowly, first conscious of a solid warmth at her back, an arm draped across her side, hand splayed again her stomach, warm breath on her neck. Never had she felt more safe, never had she felt so secure. Of course she was wondering exactly what was going on, why she was so warm, so comfortable... She remembered Zev helping her with the bandage. Then she recalled him entering her tent as she sat against the crate, unable to sleep because of the pain in her side. Her eyes flew open as she remembered a certain golden elf pulling her down to lay beside him, offering her comfort, promising she would be safe…

Well of course she'd be safe with Zevran. He'd seen her almost in the all together, had helped her wind strips of cloth around her breasts, and hadn't once even tried anything. Sure, he joked and talked a good game, but he hadn't even looked at her, had kept his eyes averted, just like Sir Gilliam. Oh why couldn't she have been flat-chested like her cousin Merelda… Men seemed to like that more, at least she'd never seen men running away from Merelda…

She shifted her position to lie on her back, her head still pillowed on Zev's arm. In the darkness of the tent she could just make out his eyes looking down at her, an unreadable expression in their depts. She wanted to touch his face, wanted to trace the curves of the tattoos there, but she didn't. Just her luck she'd wind up poking him in the eye, or worse, the nose.

"The sun will soon be up, so I bid you farewell, Mari. I do not wish to give our companions reasons to talk. And, I believe my work is done here. Did you sleep well, my sweet Warden?"

"Yes, thank you Zev," she whispered. She hoped her voice sounded even, that it didn't show the emotions tumbling through her head, her heart. "I'm sure Wynne can take care of this later this morning."

"Good, you should be able to get a much more…restive sleep tonight. But, should you need my ah…services again…" he let the offer hang between them.

"You're a really good friend, Zev, but I wouldn't feel right imposing on you. It was very kind of you to be here for me last night, but I'm sure Wynne will fix everything and I should be fine tonight," she replied softly. It was so tempting to take him up on the offer. She was acutely conscious of his hand splayed over her stomach, the warmth emanating from his body, the hard press of his thigh against hers…and of course all he had on his mind was returning to his sodding tent. Oh Maker, she was going to die a virgin….

He turned to gaze at the tent opening before looking back down at her, a tight expression on his face. Wordlessly he removed himself from her side and was gone. Maybe she'd dreamed the whole thing…

Back in his own tent Zevran glanced at his things, his possessions. He needed to pack, needed to get away from a certain Grey Warden. Just leave, his mind begged. Get out before you get too deep. She's nothing to you, she's a mark. Just finish the job you started and return to the Crows. He grabbed his pack and began stuffing things inside. And then he picked up the boots to put them inside…

"I'm glad you decided to stay with me…with us… You're a really good friend, Zev," she'd said. He wanted to scream.

What was he thinking, becoming this involved with her. More to the point, what was she thinking? She'd bared herself to him, knowing what a scoundrel he was with women. She'd trusted him. She'd lain beside him and slept, peacefully. She'd called him a friend. She'd thought of him… and given him something to remind him of his home… He carefully placed the boots back on his bed and began removing the things he'd already crammed into his pack. Next he slipped the new boots on and lay down on his bed, staring blankly up at the canvas….


	4. Chapter 4

"Zev?" she finally said, when they'd been in the Dead Trenches for a few days. She'd been so quite, he'd really begun to worry. There was no more flitting, no more animated talking, just a blank stare. She wasn't in her plate armor. It was almost too cold this deep underground to wear it when resting at camp. Dressed in warm woolen pants and top she sat beside a small fire, a cup of warm whiskey between her hands.

"What my sweet?" he replied, moving to sit close beside her, a feeble fire doing little to combat the chill of the underground. Her skin was paler than usual, her eyes flat. That last fight with The Broodmother had changed her. Maybe it had changed him. That thing, a darkspawn incubator, a monster kept alive to breed more darkspawn, he shivered at the memory. Mari said it had once been a female dwarf…

She offered him a drink from her cup, but he refused. He knew she never drank, had never seen her drink anything harder then cider. Of course she looked like she hadn't slept in days… not since that last fight.

"How did you survive all the Crow's training? I know it was bad and that you had to do many things that could eat away at a person's soul…"

He didn't respond for a while. He'd only told her a little about his past with the Crows, usually glossed over the details, joked about being bought as a child, about Elves being considered beautiful by humans and suitable for many…services. Turning to look at her he was surprised at the intensity there now where before there had been…nothing. Eyes that saw entirely too much, that seemed to be boring straight into his head…

Looking away he bent forward to stir the fire and said, "You choose. Live, or die. If you want to keep living, you do whatever it takes to keep going. Otherwise, you give up."

"But what if you can't do either? What if quitting isn't an option, but you're terrified of what awaits you in the end…"

"And what awaits you in the end, Mari?" he quipped. "A hero's reward if you end the blight? Being cast out of the Grey Wardens if you don't?" He chuckled to himself. What would be so bad about either?

For a long time she didn't speak, just gazed into the fire. When she finally raised her head and looked at him it was if the ground beneath them dropped away, and he fell into the abyss that was her eyes.

"This is where Grey Warden's come to die" she began, whispering, flat, dead. "If you're lucky. If you're not, maybe you don't die, and they drag you down here… and… Did you ever want to die, Zev? Because maybe you knew what they were going to do to you was worse than death?" She gave a humorless little laugh before continuing. "But no, you're sitting here…"

"Do not be so quick to judge, Mari," he cut in, turning his gaze away from her to look out over the cavern they were in. Maybe one day he would tell her, but now was not the time, or the place. "Sometimes death is preferable to living with what you've done. But it is not I we are really speaking of now, is it? What haunts your eyes, dear Mari?"

She shuddered and pulled even more into herself, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around her legs. He noticed a slight trembling and thought, not for the first time, that to be such a fearsome warrior, she really was a small slip of a thing.

"That thing, the Broodmother… that's what happens if the darkspawn take a female alive. I used to fear death, but now…" The trembling continued, increased until her whole body shook.

Without consciously thinking about it, Zev's arms went around her, pulling her onto his lap, tucking her against his chest, his chin resting on top of her head. Reaching for the cup of whiskey he coaxed her to drink as he held it for her. When she finished, he sat the cup down and began to run rough hands up and down her arms, her back. His own hands were trembling as he considered what she'd said. Sometimes death was preferable to living….

Zev was coming to understand his Grey Warden more every day. Yes, he thought of her as his. He didn't know exactly when he began thinking of her that way, but there it was.

He knew a little about the Grey Wardens from overhearing bits and pieces of conversations between her and Alistair. Tainted blood, could sense darkspawn, the whole quest to unite Ferelden thing… But this hell hole was where they came to die? He could think of many places more enjoyable, and less…rocky. Such as to die in the arms of a beautiful woman, or man.

He knew the other man would have perhaps handled this situation better, being more able to understand what she was thinking, how she was thinking. But then he didn't want Alistair to be the one she talked to. She was his Grey Warden. Twice now she'd slept in his arms. Not very smart considering he was an assassin, the very one hired by Loghain to kill her. Twice now she'd trusted him as she had no other… Why? This about her he didn't understand, nor did he understand why he cared...

"It must trust the Painted Elf," Shale said some time later as the golem entered the alcove the group had made camp in.

"What do you mean?" Zev asked, now having managed to settle a sleeping Mari in between his legs as he sat holding her. He was propped up against the stone at his back, both arms around her shoulders as she slumbered against his chest.

"It hasn't slept in days, and now It is sleeping on the Painted Elf, just like when the Painted Elf slept in Its tent."

"I never took you for a voyeur, Shale," he said, shifting slightly, wondering if anyone else knew about that little incident. "And Mari's just tired, as well as just a little bit drunk, I believe. You should have seen her throwing back the whiskey. Almost as quick as our new friend, Oghren."

"It never imbibes. And I find it most odd that when It does and passes out, It does so with the Painted Elf Assassin that tried to kill It. More odd than when It let the Painted Elf Assassin sleep in Its tent."

"I'm just filling in as a pillow. No doubt if our other Grey Warden were here Mari would be sleeping on him. They are comrades in arms, no?"

"No. It does not look at him the way It does the Painted Elf."

"And what way is that my dear Shale?"

"I do not know a human word for the look, only that It seems to want something whenever It looks at the Painted Elf."

"Want?"

"In the village, humans would sometimes come to sit in the square and feed the…pigeons," Shale visibly shuttered at the mere mention of the word. "They would have the same look just before they began to swap bodily fluids and maul each other. Quite disgusting I can assure you. I understand if the Painted Elf has ignored that look from It. Of course, It never looks at the Painted Elf that way when the Painted Elf is looking at It."

With that bit of conversation concluded, Shale again returned to the golem's post outside the alcove, within the larger cavern they'd camped in.

She looked at him 'that way'? Zevran rolled this new information around in his head. Since when? But, more importantly, what was he going to do about it?

Mari awoke slowly. Something was different. The dreams hadn't come. For days now in this underground hell, they'd come with increasing frequency and intensity. The Archdemon speaking to the horde, The Broodmother, darkspawn and death all around… She'd thought she was going to go insane. She'd begun to dread sleep, had avoided it until she would just pass out, but now she felt safe, she felt safe…

Other thoughts crept into her consciousness. She was warm. Beneath her cheek, warm leather, warm flesh, around her shoulders, golden arms of steel, tickling her nose, silky blonde hair. Zevran. Breathing deeply she inhaled the scent of him. Musky, spicy, sensual.

Still, overpowering the heady allure of the man was the knowledge that he had prevented the nightmares. She'd sleep with him forever if his presence truly kept the dreams away. Of course that thought lead to other thoughts, but she knew he didn't think of her that way. She just wasn't the kind of girl men fell over themselves to be with. And Zev had been with, well, everyone. Everyone except her.

The chest pillow shifted and Mari moved her head to look up into those beautiful golden eyes. A small smile flitted across her lips. Amazing how a little dreamless nap could help a person feel better.

"I see you are not alarmed to awaken in my arms again my lovely Mari. Whatever will our companions say? Twice now I've held you in my arms, twice we have… slept together and I have yet to receive so much as a kiss from you."

Like a deer startled upon in the woods, her eyes widened. Surely she was mistaken by the meaning behind his words. Reaching up she placed a small kiss on his cheek….

"That is a kiss for a small child, or perhaps an invalid grandmother. Come Mari, I am a man, you are beautiful woman, strong, passionate, desirable…"

"Zev, I…" She didn't know what to do or say. Did he really want her to kiss him? Maker, she should have paid more attention to her other cousin Melvena when she tried to teach her about flirting with boys. Of course Zevran was no boy. No, he was all man. One hundred percent heart stopping, beautiful, sexy man.

Pushing herself up, away from that warm chest she hesitated, not really knowing exactly what to do. She'd seen people kiss before. She'd watched her brother kiss his wife, knew the mechanics of the act. It shouldn't be this hard, she thought. It was just a kiss. She'd felled Orcs, dispatched darkspawn left and right, she could do this. She leaned in and was about to touch her lips to his when Oghren ran into the alcove and announced that he'd spotted Branka, the Dwarven paragon they'd come to find.

Her gaze cut to Oghren, but immediately came back to Zevran. She was not going to waste this opportunity. Who knew if she'd even live to see tomorrow… In a flash her lips were on his. They were soft, warm, plump, tempting… She wasn't prepared for the sensations when Zev's lips parted under hers and his tongue swept hers, coaxing her lips apart. A gasp escaped her throat as he moved his hands to her head, angling his lips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue now dipping deeper into her mouth.

"Ain't got time for that, Warden," Oghren growled as he bent to pick up his Greatsword. "Branka, that female Bronto is headed for the Anvil of the Void and if we want to catch her we need to move."

Mari didn't really remember much after that. Somehow she was dressed in her armor and headed out into the Dead Trenches to find a Paragon. All she knew was that she had to do that again. She fought as if she were the Archdemon. It was amazing what you could do if you wanted something bad enough….


	5. Chapter 5

No time. There had been no time to repeat that kiss, no time for anything but killing and traveling. The Dwarves were united and Mari and her companions were back in Denerim awaiting the Landsmeet. Leaving Arl Eamon's estate, she took her Mabari hound, Noodle, with her as she entered the square. She needed to collect some armor she'd had commissioned for Zevran on one of their previous trips to the city. Collecting the Drakescale armor she returned to the estate and headed to his room, knocking on the door.

The elf answered the door wearing nothing but tight leather pants and a bemused smile on his lips. He'd obviously just bathed as his hair was still damp and droplets of water clung to his chest. Mari's mouth was suddenly dry.

"I… I got this for you," she stammered, shoving the package at him. He took the package and reached around behind her to close the door. She startled as it clicked shut, and he could swear to the Maker he saw a moment of fear in her eyes. His Grey Warden was afraid of being alone in a room with him? Most intriguing…

Ah, his warden was not in her armor. No, Leliana must have convinced her that metal and steel were not appropriate attire for a proper Lady staying in an Arl's estate. No, today she wore a soft dress of lavender that hugged her curves and clung to her like a second skin, though he wished for the scooped neckline of the Orlaisian dresses, not the high ones of Ferelden. Hair the color of winter wheat was piled up on her head, tendrils escaping to frame her face. This was Lady Cousland, Ferelden nobility, alluring woman.

"Another gift, Mari? What must the others think?" he tisked as he crossed the room and placed the parcel on the bed. Removing the cloth it was wrapped in he was stunned to see the beautiful set of Drakescale armor. No expense had been spared. He stroked his hand over the tunic. So soft, he knew it would wear like a second skin, yet be tough as steel.

Glancing up he saw she was still standing in exactly the same spot. Close enough to the door to run, perhaps? The look she was giving him, though, this was what Shale had been talking about. Maker help him but she was looking at him like she was starving and he was a tasty treat about to be gobbled up. Maybe he was the one that should be afraid, but no, this was something he knew, he was comfortable with desire, with taking what pleasures he could when they presented themselves.

He walked towards her and she retreated, backing up against the door, one hand reaching behind to fumble for the doorknob. Was that panic he saw in her eyes? Zevran stopped just short of touching her, and not for first time, wondered how someone so delicate could fight with the strength of a demon. Slowly reaching out he took both her hands in his, lifting them above her head, leaning forward to press her back against the door. Full contact, his body so taught with desire, hers so soft, trembling…

"There is no Oghren to interrupt us now," he murmured. "No darkspawn, no paragon, just you and me."

He wanted to take it slow, to savor the moment. And then he saw the tip of a pink tongue dart out to touch a trembling bottom lip, a small sigh escaping. The moment exploded in a shower of sparks as he found himself crushing her lips beneath his. Releasing her hands he reached behind her to lock the door. It took a moment. Were his hands trembling?

Her hands were in his hair, his were wrapped around her waist. They each seemed to be trying to crawl inside the other. Backing them towards the bed, his lips never left hers. Falling backwards he pulled her down on top of him, then rolled over so that she lay beneath him. The dress he'd so admired just a few minutes earlier he now hated. He wanted it off her. Taking his lips from hers for a moment, he pushed himself to look down at her.

Marielle untangled her hands from the silken web of Zev's hair. Maker help her but she had no idea what she was doing. She couldn't even think! Her brain had just shut down, had decided to go on holiday without her body. Her body, however, knew exactly what it wanted. He was looking down at her and his eyes were actually on fire… She placed a palm on his bare chest and sighed. She felt him tense as she explored the expanse of taut muscles and velvet skin, brushed a finger over a tight nipple. She glanced up and wondered if she'd done something wrong. His expression was strained, a look almost of pain stretching the skin tight.

"Should I not do that?" she whispered, reaching up to trace a finger along the tattoo on his cheek.

"NO, yes," he replied, "you can do that and anything else you wish." Grabbing her hand to bring it to his mouth, lips placing tiny kisses inside her palm, up the inside of her wrist before leaning down to recapture her mouth with his.

Mari supposed this was what heaven was like. Zev's weight pressing her down into the soft down of the mattress, his mouth doing the most wondrous things to hers, and oh Maker!... she felt his cock throbbing against the junction of her thighs. Of their own accord her hips lifted towards him. He growled into her mouth and flexed his hips down. Oh! Oh!

Zevran was just about to tear the dress from her body when insistent knocking at the door and his name being called loudly from the hallway finally penetrated the sensual fog his brain had been trapped in.

"Zevran, have you seen Mari?" Allistair called, still banging on the door. "Arl Eamon wants us to meet in his quarters."

And once again fate stepped in.

Zevran could not chance a glance in Mari's direction. He kept his eyes fixed on Talesin. He was, however, standing close enough to her to hear her muttering to herself…"sodding werewolves, abominations, broodmother….and now this…"

"We'll make up a story Zev. Just come back with us," Talesin persuaded. Mari felt Zev tense beside her. She'd moved closer, her shoulder touching his now, ready to shield him if she needed to.

"Of course I'd have to be dead," she stated matter-of-factly.

"And I'm not going to let that happen," Zed said, deadly steel in his words. "I'm not going back with you, and you should have stayed in Antiva, old friend."

Mari knew they'd try to take him alive. No one left the Crows and lived to tell about it. They'd take him back to make an example of him. Death would be preferable to what awaited him at their hands. Then the fight was on and arrows were flying and blades were clashing. Her first and foremost concern had to be for the group, but she found herself staying close to Zev, protecting him. Calling on the skills she'd learned form Oghren she slew everything that got close, ignoring all else. Talesin fell under the onslaught of her blade and when it was over, no Crow was left standing.

The bloodlust had been strong and it took a while for her to come down off the killing high she was on. Only then did she begin to feel the multitude of wounds and bruises she'd acquired. The fight had been fierce, but she and her companions still stood, some barely.

"It is over. The Crows will assume I was killed along with Talesin," Zevran said, his eyes resting on his old friend.

"What will you do now?" she'd asked, afraid to hear his answer but knowing she had to.

"I suppose now I have options," he said after a while. His gaze returned to Talesin. Yes, he could do whatever he liked and the Antivan Crows would not look for him.

Mari hated the sadness she saw in his eyes. She also hated the fact that it was all her fault. If she had released him from his pledge he could have left, gone far away, built a new life.

"I'm sorry, Zev. Sorry about everything. I should have let you go,"…why was the light getting dimmer? "You're my best friend and I should have let you choose…" The sword dropped from her hand as the light vanished and she began to crumple.

"You're my best friend." Zev's heart clutched in his chest, and he wondered what he'd ever done in his life to deserve this. Best friend? Her fault? And then she was crumpling and he caught her. He felt the warm blood flowing and knew they had little time. Crows always used poison. He would not loose her. He carried her back to Arl Eamon's estate after Wynne managed too stabilize her.

"I'll sit with her," Zev told Leliana later after they'd gotten back to Arl Eamon's and Wynne and Morrigan worked to stop the bleeding and counteract the poison. They'd kept everyone else out of the room while they worked and it was some hours later when a very tired Wynne and Morrigan exited the room, their mana spent, too tired to sit up with her. They'd asked Leliana to sit with her and call them if anything changed. Leliana glanced up and nodded. She already knew what was going on between the assassin and their leader. She'd felt it in their glances to each other, the unspoken words that seemed to flow between them.

"The Maker is surely with her," the bard said as she rose to leave. "A little higher and the arrow would have entered her heart. As it was the poison didn't spread as quickly because it lodged in close to the rib."

"If the Maker were truly with her, she would never been put through this."

"Then we would have never known her. She would have never toughed our lives. Would you go back and change it? The Maker sent her to us, all of us… and I know He put us in her path for a reason."

The bard's words echoed in his head after she left. He pulled a chair up and just sat watching her. The single candle in the room flickered in a slight breeze. Her eyes fluttered and opened.

"Zev?" she whispered. "Wha…." She licked her dry lips. "What…why…" she tried to shake her head to clear away the fog.

"Crossbow at close range. Poison." Reaching forward he took one of her hands in his and raised it to his lips. Wynne and Morrigan had removed her armor and padding, as well as the binding she always kept around her breast. In a simple cotton shift she looked so young and helpless lying there. Wynne had propped her on her side by placing pillows and rolled up blankets against her back.

"Are you Ok?" she asked, searching his face.

"I am fine, barely a scratch," he replied.

"That's not what I mean…" She closed her eyes and withdrew her hand from his. "I'm so sorry… it's my fault your friend is dead. I should have released you from your oath…but I…"

He pressed a finger against her lips. "Mari, I…."

"No, I need to finish….I was afraid you'd leave and I'd loose my best friend. I was selfish… I wasn't a true friend to you. I'm sorry, and I'll understand if you chose to go. I just want you to be happy. I want you to follow your heart…"

She was sorry? It was her fault? She hadn't been a good friend to him? Something inside his chest constricted painfully. The walls he'd spend years building around his heart were in danger of crumbling.

Twice now she'd called him her best friend. What did he even know about being a friend? He knew he'd come to care for her, too much. She was more important to him that air… And then she'd said she'd been afraid he'd leave…and told him to follow his heart…..

Maker help him but she was his heart…. She'd held it in her hands from that first day….

Marielle knew two things. One, she'd just lost her best friend through her own selfishness. And, two, she no longer cared if she never woke up again. She'd see this through…she'd promised her father to do her duty… Maybe the Maker would be merciful and end her suffering when it was all over.

Zevran took her hand back in his, bringing the bruised knuckles to his lips. The poison was still working in her blood, and he knew it was painful. "Try not to move too much. Wynne wants you on your side so the wound in your back can breathe and drain. The healing poultices she put on it will help… but the poison will make you uncomfortable for a while, until it runs its course."

She gritted her teeth and continued trying to roll over, pulling her hand away from his, trying to reach back and move the pillows.

Exasperated, Zevran gave up trying to keep her still. He rose from the chair and crawled onto the bed facing her. Stretching out he drew her into his arms, one carefully scooting under her shoulders and cradling her head against his neck, the other resting lightly across her hip, a hand splayed low on her back to keep her still.

"I thought I'd lost you," she breathed against his neck, beginning to still, her breathing becoming deeper, slower.

"How could I leave, my sweet Mari? Who would hold you when you're hurt? It seems to be my destiny to hold you as a friend and not a lover, a totally novel situation for me I can assure you," he teased. He breathed in the scent of the warm woman in his arms. She mumbled something against his throat and he held his breath… She hadn't said that. No. She hadn't fallen asleep telling him she loved him… The wall around his heart crumbled some more.


	6. Chapter 6

Mari struggled against the fog inside her head. Red fog. Red everywhere….blood everywhere. And laughing, someone was laughing and she wished they'd shut up. Wished they'd stop because it wasn't funny. It wasn't funny laughter, it was creepy, insane laughter. And then the laughter turned into weeping. No longer insane, no longer creepy, but just as disturbing. Such anguish, such rage, such despair.

Red everywhere…blood everywhere. Mari realizes she was the one sobbing as she feels the warmth of tears streaming down her face. Her eyes finally focus, and at her feet is what remains of Arl Rendon Howe. In her hands, Oghren's great axe is drenched in blood. Someone is calling her name. Someone takes the axe from her, and then she is being enveloped in warmth. Strong arms embrace her from behind. Zevran… She feels safe, just like when she'd run to her Da after falling from her horse. Only Da was dead… She jerks away, and shakes her head to clear the fog. The anger, the despair, it all comes flooding back and she wants that axe back in her hands, wants to destroy the entire Howe family. She reaches for the axe again, but those arms are holding her tight.

"Mari? We must finish what we came here to do." Zevran's voice whispers in her ear. Yes, what they'd come to do… She stuffs the rage back inside, backs away from the abyss she'd been so close to falling into. Taking a deep breath, she turned to their other companions and motioned for them to follow her. She would see this through, she'd promised her Da that.

"I made your mother kiss my boots before I slit her throat. Now it's your turn," Howe had sneered. Zevran knew the exact moment Mari unleashed the demon she kept caged inside. In an instant the woman who had flitted around the camp site, the woman he'd held in his arms and almost made love to, the woman he'd come to care about as no other since Rinna, vanished. In her place had been a metal clad killing machine bent on one thing only, destroying Howe.

It had been both beautiful and terrifying. And afterwards? What was that pressure in his chest? The anguish he'd seen on her face had been so intense he'd felt it with her, the utter desolation of loosing such a powerful love. Not even Rinna… He shook his head. Did he even know what real love was?

What he felt for Mari…he wasn't sure it was love, but what he felt for her was more powerful than anything he'd ever experienced. He knew she loved him, yet she'd offered him his freedom. She'd thought of his happiness over her own…


	7. Chapter 7

Marielle wasn't sure where she was getting the strength to still stand. Riordan had dropped a bomb into their midst. Only Grey Wardens could kill an Archdemon. And in doing so, a Grey Warden had to die….

And then he'd said the stupidest thing…."Get some rest."

In her room Morrigan was waiting and Mari was immediately wary of the mage. And for good reason… "Convince Allistar to lay with me…..Archdemon soul…Old God attracted to unborn child…"

Everything in her screamed no. And then the mage called her a fool and left. She didn't know how long she just stood there. It could have been seconds. It could have been hours. And then strong arms were enfolding her and she turned to bury her face against a familiar neck, felt callused hands running over her arms and back.

"I would like to give you something," he said.

No more words… Mari knew Zevran loved her even if he couldn't say the words. She had one final gift she could give the man she loved. He still didn't believe he was worthy of love, especially after Rinna. She moved to close and lock the door before returning to him. Never taking her eyes from his, she slowly began removing her armor and finally stood naked in the soft candle light. Never once did Zev's eyes leave hers.

Acting on pure adrenalin, and absolutely scared to death that he would reject her, she crossed the room to the elf and pressed her lips to his….

Zevran felt the barrier give, heard her sharp cry of pain. With an iron will gained over a lifetime, he held perfectly still.

"Surprise…?" she said in a very small voice when she could speak again.

"Why me Mari?"

Zev's head was spinning. She was a virgin… Mari was a virgin…and he…he was the most jaded, cynical man, totally undeserving… Why? Why him…and then the doubts jumped him. Why him? Why now? He replayed everything Morrigan had said. A dark ritual…convince Alistair to lay with her… No one had to die. And here she was laying with him… A Grey Warden would die tomorrow…

A virgin…a noble human. Maker she could have been Queen, but she chose him over Allistair. Why? That one word burned through his brain and he didn't even know he'd said it aloud until she reached up and touched his face, her palm cupping his cheek.

"Because I love you," she simply said, her fingers now moving to slide a lock of hair behind his ear.

"Mari, I…"

"Ssshhhh," she placed a finger on his lips. "No questions, no doubts, no regrets… just make love to me Zev. Please…"

Bodies moving, sighs, gasps, and finally completion. Over and over that night they came together and shattered in the sun only to fall back to earth to begin again. In the early light of dawn Zev cradled a sleeping Mari against him and whispered into her hair… "I love you." He'd never been so scared in his life.

The Archdemon was down. Riordan had fallen attempting to slay the dragon. It was up to Mari and Allistair now.

"Allistair, Fereldon is in your hands. You must become king and heal the land."

"But I never wanted this. I never wanted to be King. I could best serve Ferelden by dying."

"You will do your duty and I will do mine. We don't always get what we want." She grabbed him in a final hug and whispered in his ear, "Promise… Take care of Zev for me, please…" and then she was running towards the great beast, her heart beating so fast she expected it to burst even before she reached the dragon.

The pain was intense, it burned and she thought her skin was melting off the bone. It was nothing though compared to the Old God entering her mind, her soul. There was anger, rage, and fury. Soon the physical pain faded away and her final thought before the Old God roared one last time was of Zev, every smile, every touch, every glance they're shared….and she said a simple prayer of thanks to the Maker for allowing her to love him, for taking away the loneliness and hate Howe had caused. "Please bless him and care for him…" and then the world shattered and she knew nothing else.

The blast knocked everyone down, the percussion dazing them all. Zevran climbed slowly to his feet and shook his head. He couldn't accept that Mari was gone. She hadn't even said good bye, hadn't even glanced at him before leaping on the beast.

Already Wynne and Alistair were bending over her body, but he, Zevran, couldn't move. His chest hurt so much…. And then he was running to her and collapsed beside her. Gently he gathered her broken body into his arms and rocked her as he could a child, tears streaming down his face unchecked.

Wynne knelt beside him and reached to take her hand. The daughter she'd never had….

A pulse…faint, thready, but there…

"Zevran," she finally had to shout to get through to him, "She'd got a pulse. Help me get this healing poison in her and then we need to get her off this roof." She uncorked a vial and held it to Zev to touch to her lips.

Between them they managed to get her down and back to the palace. Zev carried her the whole way and never left her side as Wynne and the royal healers worked throughout the night. It was early morning when the sky was turning the faintest shade of pink. Wynne, Alistair, Leliana, and Zev kept vigil. Mari's breathing had become more and more shallow and tremors now wracked her slender frame. Zevran was where he'd been all night, sitting beside her, her hands in his.

He'd never been a prayful man although he knew about the Maker, the Chantry, Andraste. His life had been one of self only. If there was a maker he'd never lifted a finger to help him, but now he prayed. Maker give him back his love… take him instead. She was a good person, he was worthless. Save her, take him instead…

"Zevran Arainai," a strange voice whispered on the wind, soft but heard by everyone in the room.

Lelianna was the first to gasp as a light surrounded Mari and Zev. It grew in brightness until the room was as bright as the noon day sun. Inside the light was a presence that said again, "Zevran Arainai."

"Maker's breath," Alistair gasped as a form took shape in the light.

Zevran grasped Mari's hand tighter, refused to take his eyes from her. The light grew more intense, although there was no heat. The form took shape and a hand was laid on his shoulder.

"She is staying in this world because of you. She cannot leave until you release her. Tell her you don't love her and she will be finished here and free to cross into the Fade."

When he refused to respond, the form said, "I have seen your heart Zevran. You question your heart. You question her love. Just tell her…tell her her love means nothing to you and her suffering will end and she will cross into the Fade…"

"NO!" he shouted, every muscle in his body tense.

"Why? If you question, then you don't really love her…you"

"But I do. I do love her," he said on a broken sob.

"Do you love her enough to take her place Zevran Arainai?"

"Yes. Take me instead..I cannot go on without her…"

"You would willingly give you life so that she may live?"

"Yes…"

The light grew even brighter until it was blinding and then the form solidified.

Lelianna gasped and fell to her knees, followed closely by Wynne and a stunned Alistair. Standing beside Mari's bed with her hand on Zev's shoulder was Andraste. "Peace of the maker be with you, Zevran Arainai. You have proven yourself worthy of her."


End file.
